proofs of holy writ." Of course it would be impossible to make this
clear to Esther or the doctor. Amy realised that and did not try. But in
her own mind she thought of it continually. And her little pile of proof
mounted higher day by day.

Esther, absorbed in the care of her step-mother, was not even aware that
Aunt Amy noticed her growing listlessness, her heavy eyes, her fits of
brooding. She did not know that a silent foot paused before her closed
door, listening. All she knew was that it was relief unspeakable to be
with Aunt Amy, to let drop the mask of cheerful energy without fear of
questioning or of wonder. Aunt Amy didn't matter.

Mary, too, felt that it was needless to hoodwink Amy. No need to pretend
with her. She might show herself as irritable, as conscienceless, as
nerve-racked and disagreeable as she chose without fear of displaying
"symptoms." Aunt Amy was not looking for symptoms, indeed Mary thought
she grew more stupid daily. After her marriage something would really
have to be done about Amy. She hoped the doctor wouldn't be silly
about it.

Even Dr. Callandar was not careful to hide his burden from those faded
eyes. He was more self-conscious even with Ann or Bubble than he was
with her. What matter if she did see his mouth harden or his eyes
burn?--Poor Aunt Amy, such things could have no meaning for her. She was
a soul apart.

A soul apart indeed, how far apart none of them quite realised; yet near
enough to love--and hate. As the days went by and Esther drooped like a
graceful plant athirst for water there grew in Aunt Amy's twisted brain
a slow corroding anger. The timid, bitter anger of a weak nature which
is often more deadly than the lordly passion of the strong.

If she could only do something. If she could only outwit "Them"! She
would do anything at all, if she could only find the thing to do. It was
terrible to be so helpless. It was maddening to have to be so careful.
Yet careful she must be, she never forgot that. Often as she went about
the house or stood in the sunny kitchen rolling out her flaky pie-crust,
she pondered over ways and means. But none seemed suitable. Some of her
plans were fantastic to a degree, but she always had sense enough to
reject them in the end. In her planning she was conscious of no sense of
right or wrong but only of suitability. There could be no question of
right or wrong in dealing with "Them." They were outside the pale. No.
What she wanted was s